Faded

The forest is asleep, and so am I. I tread through the blanket of snow that coats my dreams, walking, searching for something. What I am searching for, I do not yet know. I step carefully, though there is no point. Regardless of what I do, my footsteps do not disturb the powder beneath my feet.

It feels imperative that I do not wake her, though, the slumbering woods. The trees seem to expand and deflate around me, like lungs taking in slow life giving breaths of air. In a way, I suppose the forest really is breathing.

I’m in nothing but a thin night gown, but I do not feel Winter’s bite. In a realm between sleep and wakefulness, I have certain luxuries I would not normally possess.

It is with those luxuries that I am able to step through this frozen place with no repercussions or submissions to the cold. All is silent, except for my presence as I forge onward with bare feet and exposed limbs.

I gaze around, looking for a hint as to what I am meant to be searching for. There is nothing, and so I continue onward. I feel as if I am a ghost, doomed to wander this empty forest for eternity. Perhaps I am.

I try to remember the last moments before I turned up here. The last moment when I was awake, or alive. I can’t. I can’t even remember my own name.

This realization causes me to inhale sharply in anxiety. Who am I? Where am I? I begin to run, still unsure of what lays ahead of me, desperate to uncover the truth of my situation.

Trees flash past me as I stumble through the forest, branches whipping me in the face as if urging me to slow down. It is only when I hear the whispers of the wind that I come to a stop near the base of a naked oak.

I turn my gaze upward at the spindling branches. The wind whips my hair around my face, urging me to look closer.

There, at the very top, perched on a snow covered branch, sits a snowy white barn owl, its large yellow eyes pinned directly on me, sizing me up. I can feel it’s piercing look, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up on end. Its round eyes contain a depth to them that I have never encountered before, this much I do know.

This owl is sentient, knowing. In that moment I know that this creature, this being, was who I was meant to find.

“Ancient one,” I begin, hoping that I am addressing it properly, “What is my purpose for being here?”

The owl’s eyes dilate as they scrutinize me further before turning its head away and rustling its feathers. I await an answer in a tense silence, only to be disappointed when it begins to flap its wings and soar away.

“Wait!” I call out after its retreating figure, “Please! I must know what is going on! Who I am, my purpose, what this place is!”

I take off after the owl, my bare feet kicking up snow as I sprint through the forest. This time the branches do not strike out at me. Instead they seem to move out of the way, clearing a path for me to continue my pursuit.

I feel as if I have been running for ages, though it can’t have been more than a couple of minutes. Time must be relative here, and though I have exerted energy, my lungs feel just as full as if I were at rest and my calves give no aching in complaint.

I must be dead and this must be my purgatory, committed to chasing the white rabbit throughout wonderland. Though, in this case my white rabbit is a snowy barn owl.

The path opens up into a clearing and I halt my attempt of pursuit. I sweep the area and note its presence immeditaly. There it is, the owl, sitting atop a log situated in the very center of the clearing.

I approach carefully, then sink to my knees, not wanting it to fly away again. Its gaze locks on mine once more and I take that as a good sign to speak.

“Am I dead?” I whisper.

“Hoo!” it hoots, head cocking slightly.

“Please,” I try again, “Where am I?”

“Hoo!” its head swivels the other way and I push out a breath in frustration.

I’m beginning to feel rather silly over this encounter, but the owl is the only sign of life that I’ve seen besides myself, and that can’t be a coincidence.

“Ancient one,” I address it as I did earlier, trying to convey my respect, “ I know not who I am or what I have done to appear in this forest, but I humbly ask that you provide me with answers so that I may do something about it.”

The owl regards me coolly and I maintain my kneeling posture, not daring to move or break eye contact.

My eyes grow wide and my mouth pops open in surprise as wind begins to circle around the owl, pulling up snow from the immediate area. The small snow storm obscures my vision of the animal, and I gape silently as it begins to climb upwards, circling faster and faster.

In an instant the miniature tornado ceases and the snow drops to the ground in plunk, revealing a woman with long dark brown hair, braided past her waist. She too is in a shift of a dress meant for sleep.

The woman holds her arms out towards me and tears spring to my eyes. I launch to my feet and stumble across the clearing to her, throwing myself in her outstretched arms.

“Mama,” I cry as she envelops me in a hug.

As soon as we touch, a slew of memories flood back to me in waves. Together we slump to the ground, holding each other tightly and crying salty tears as the memory of her death races across my vision, followed by memories of my own death occuring just a few years afterwards.

I relive the pain of drowning in frozen waters, iciness filling my lungs and sending sharp stabs of pain through me. Through it all she holds me, whispering encouraging words as the memories take hold. I gasp and tremble, trying desperately to suck in gulps of fresh air, feeling only the feeling of water filling up my lungs like a bucket of water on a hot summers day.

I flop on the ground, choking, dying all over again. My mother never releases her hold on me. My eyes are swimming with tears at the pain and I know that I am dead, that this place I’m in is the other side, and that I have finally found my mother at last. At this realization, the pain begins to ebb and water spurts out of my mouth as I cough it all up, expelling its unwelcome presence from my lungs.

When it is over and the pain is no longer there, she grasps me by my elbows and pulls me to my feet.

“Come, child, she coos, “the worst is over. We are together once more.”

“Mama?” I rasp out, “Is this the afterlife?”

She hesitates for only a second before replying, “Yes, Orenda, this is the afterlife.”

Mama takes my hand and warmth begins to blossom from the spot of contact, spreading throughout my body and warming me to the core. I close my eyes and smile as I feel myself begin to fade away, alongside my mother.

My name, Orenda, rings out around me, the trees whispering their final farewell as I pass into the unknown.